More of the Same!

Ah, the glamour of the writer’s life.  I sit, Barbara-Cartland-like, in my maribou negligee, sipping champagne as I write about the wonders of love.

NOT.  I am sprawled in my writing chair, drinking a glass of Target pinot-grigio-in-a-box, dressed in my too-big yoga pants and a striped tee shirt, trying to think of ways to write a sentence without the dreaded “ing”, “ly” or “to be” verb.  All the while staying in the correct POV, with no headhopping (my new favorite vice) and not introducing a loathsome anachronism into my historical era.  Who knew the British didn’t say “hallway” in the 18th century?  I have gone back and changed all my hallways into corridors and passageways.  Thank God for “find and replace.”

The control-F combo that calls up find and replace is my new best friend.  It is making shift-f7 (thesaurus) quite jealous. 

But the reward for all this work is not the obscure shot at actually getting published.  It is that Susan and Edward (and poor ditsy Lydia, and dashing Lord Martyn, and evil Rulling, and noble Julia, and sweet little Anna, etc.) have become real to me.  They are people.  I ask Susan how she would say things.  I go back and change paragraphs, not because there is anything wrong with them, but because, gee, Edward can’t stand looking dumb like that.  He would never say . . .

You have few enough friends in your life.  I have made a whole bunch of new friends.  And when I say made, I mean created.  How cool is that? I talk to them, I worry about them.  I argue with them, and sometimes I lose the argument.  (That darn Susan is so strong-willed!)

I wonder if Barbara Cartland ever got in arguments with her heroines?


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